13th First Seed
4E 211
Windhelm
The Storm Cloud Gathers I
(Ulfric Stormcloak)
Ulfric Stormcloak sat on his throne peering intently at the man before him. It said a lot about the news that he had just received that for once he was not slouched over with his head resting lazily upon his fist which in turn rested upon the armrest. For once he was sitting up straight and alert, his attention fully focused on the stormcloak commander before him. Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced had earned his moniker during the Markath Incident where he had stood over a downed Ulfric, protecting his future High King from arrows with his own body. The two had known each other since they were children and they had an unbreakable bond forged in the fires of more battles than Ulfric cared to think about. There was no one that the High King trusted more, and that was the only reason he was even considering believing what Yrsarald had just reported.
"Are you certain of this?" Ulfric asked once more. "There can be no mistake?"
"Its been verified by our best agents." Yrsarald replied once more.
He folded his thick hairy arms and his intense blue eyes locked with Ulfric's own, transferring more meaning than could be put into words, as he continued.
"A lot of them died for this information. There can be no doubt. The Dominion is on the move. Their entire war fleet is unaccounted for."
"Why didn't we learn of this sooner?!" Ulfric bellowed slamming a fist down upon the armrest of his throne.
"Until two days passed I was still being reassured that the fleet remained docked in Alinor. One or two ships is understandable but the entire fleet missing? How could this come to be?"
"Magic." Yrsarald spat the word out as if it was the foulest curse he could muster. "Oblivion take all magic users but it was one of our friends from the college that finally broke through the spell. Illusion magic on an unheard of scale."
"Altmer bastards and their magic tricks." Ulfric snarled tapping a forefinger agitatedly upon the armrest of the throne. He glared up at the sweeping ceiling of his throne room as he sought to gather his thoughts.
Ten years ago he had wrested control of Skyrim from an Aldemeri controlled Empire with nothing but a strong sword arm and a dedicated band of true Nords. The price had been high and some of Ulfric's nights were still haunted by the faces of a thousand friends and companions that he had willingly sent to their death in his conquest, but in the end it was worth it. For the first time in a millennia the destiny of the Nords was once again in the hands of the Nords. A true son of Skyrim was once again High King and the Fatherland itself was free of the crumbling Empire's yoke. The ensuing decade had been one of rebuilding and reorganizing a Skyrim still in uproar and confusion after the events of the civil war while building up a powerbase for the inevitable clash with the Aldemri Dominion. It would seem that the Elves had decided to take the initiative.
Ulfric suddenly felt drain. He was tired, more tired than he had ever been. The Jagged Crown rested heavy upon his brow. Once again his people would be tested; once again the Nords would be called upon to pay the ultimate price for their freedom. How many more trueborn sons and daughters of Skyrim would die in the service of their country this time? How much more would his people need suffer to simply earn their right to exist?
We're Nords and we'll keep on fighting no matter what. Talos give us strength. Ulfric thought. No Elf nor their servant shall ever have this land again while a true Nord draws breath.
"So," Ulfric said shortly opening back his eyes. "A pack of Elf ships might be halfway to Skyrim even as we speak."
"Aye." Yrsarald said grimly as he nodded his head.
"Where stands the Empire on this matter?" Ulfric asked softly with his eyes narrowing.
After slaying or driving all of the Imperial Legion from Skyrim the Empire had been for the most part quiet. There was still the occasional raid on the Skyrim settlements boarding High Rock and Cyrodiil but there had been nothing close to an organize attempt on Skyrim in almost five years. The assassination of their last Emperor, Titus Mede II, had left the Empire in a state of such upheaval and confusion that even the Thalmor had kept away. The latest reports that Ulfric had received indicated that in Cyrodiil every count seem to be setting up his own and the warfare between territories was intense. Yet if the Empire chose this time to scrounge up some troops and march on Skyrim then Ulfric would be fighting a battle on two fronts. The thought of a organized assault from the Empire frightened Ulfric more than an invasion of Aldemeri.
Ten years was not enough, not nearly enough, to consolidate power after so bloody and abrupt a takeover. Thousands within his realm still supported the Empire in secret and cursed him as the Usurper beneath their breath. A determined march on Skyrim would most likely cause every Hold to once again erupt into civil war and everything that Ulfric had worked so hard towards for ten years would go up like mist under a midday sun.
I should have wiped them out when I had the chance, Ulfric mentally cursed, Talos prevent my people from suffering for my lapse!
"We've little to fear from them at least." Yrsarald said waving a dismissive hand. "Cyrodiil is more nine countries than one now. Almost all the Counties has declared their independence. In the absence of an Emperor that milk drinker of a Legion Commander Verus has been made Regent. The entire Legion is deployed in trying to bring the counties to heel."
"Don't underestimate them." Ulfric said grimly. "They once thought they had little to fear of us. Look what that got them. I want an eye kept on our dearest neighbors at all times. We have more to fear from an Imperial invasion than an Aldemeri one."
With that the High King of Skyrim smoothly rose to his feet and stretched with a loud yawn. Even though he had just seen his fiftieth winter Ulfric Stormcloak was still an imposing man. He stood at six feet five and weighed in at close to twenty stones. Big for most other races, but typical for a Nord. Even in his advance age the thick corded muscles in his shoulders had not faded, neither had the strength in his sword arm. Yet the High King had not completely escaped the ravages of time.
His sleek hair and neatly trimmed beard, both once ruddy auburn were now streaked with silver, and the handsome noble-born face was now heavily lined with the cares and worries of a nation. The finely woven silk tunic that he wore was stretched tight across a paunch that had definitely not been there ten years before when he was winning his throne. But his emerald eyes still remained the same, alert and carrying a deep pain.
"What are your orders my king?" Yrasald prompted.
"There is work to be done." Said Ulfric grimly. "Send word out immediately. I will not be taken unawares by the Aldemeri snowbacks. I want Windhelm, Winterhold, and Solitude reinforced.
A thousand men apiece. I want patrols along the entire coast from Morrowind to High Rock. Send word to the fishermen and the Horker hunters to be on the lookout too, the Fatherland is threatened and every Nord should do their part."
"Aye my king."
"I want you to personally ride out to the Reach to inform Galmar of the situation. Tell him regretfully that his retirement has been cut short and Skyrim once more needs his services.
I want him to draw a detachment of soldiers from each Hold and use them to ensure that all the old Stormcloak Camps and forts are properly manned."
"At once lord Ulfric."
Ulfric stood so lost in his thoughts that he did not even notice Yrasald leaving. War was upon Skyrim once more, he felt it in his bones as he had ten years ago. Yet unlike ten years ago Ulfric Stormcloak was not excited by the prospect.
"How many more sons and daughters of Skyrim need die for us to live in peace?" He murmured to himself. "How much more Nordic blood need be spilled for us to finally come into our own? Damn these Elves! Damn them!"
Ten years ago, before the civil war that he had started, word of an Aldemeri invasion would have seen Ulfric Stormcloak in the saddle with sword in hand and an army of Nords at his back, with only the thought of 'victory or Svongarde' on his mind. Now…now he wasn't so eager to send more Nords to their deaths. As usual though, it didn't look like he would have much choice. Tucking his misgivings to the back of his mind Ulfric ascended the steps to his bedchambers. If nothing else he would need to be well rested to face the coming crisis.
-8-
The place where Ulfric stood was nothing like his bedchambers where he last remembered lying down to sleep. He stood on barren and unyielding rock. In all directions he could see sheer cliff faces and summits as well as many waterfalls. Ulfric noted that it was like he was on a little island for a river of black water could be seen in all three directions. He paid little mind to those details however, all his attention was immediately focused on what could be found in the fourth direction: directly in front of him.
It was a skull so massive that Ulfric had to crane his neck backwards to see the top of it. the jaws of the beast gaped open forming a portal about the size of the front door to the Palace of Kings. Ulfric's eyes roamed further and saw that beyond the skull was attached a spine big enough to comfortably drive abreast two wagons. What looked like gigantic ribs lined the side of the spine in a grisly resembles to railings. The skeleton of the creature formed a bridge which spanned a great black chasm. It was a bridge which was familiar to every Nord though none saw it till death.
"The whalebone bridge."The High King muttered awed to himself.
Sure enough, the many precipices of a great castle could be seen rising up out of the mist in the distance and past the whalebone bridge. It was the Hall of Shor which meant that Ulfric was in Svongarde; the Nordic paradise.
"You're not dead."
Ulfric turned quickly towards the direction of the voice. He gasped audibly when he saw a face that he had not seen in almost twenty five years.
"Father." Ulfric whispered.
Indeed it was Wulfred Stormcloak as Ulfric remembered him; not as the shrunken sickly poison ravaged thing that he had been towards the end of his life. The man before Ulfric was tall and hale, his resemblance to his son was striking but where Ulfric's hair was auburn and his eyes green the great Bear of Eastmarch was redheaded and peered at the world through somber orbs of gray.
"Ulfric." The former Jarl of Winterhelm said. Wulfred's voice was the same deep rumble that Ulfric remembered so well and still keenly missed every day that he awoke.
"My son."
Ulfric sank to his knees, his feet going weak with emotions.
"Father." Ulfric whispered again.
Tears came unbidden to his eyes and his body trembled from the weight of his emotions. There was so much that he wanted to tell this man before him. His triumphs and his failures, his hopes and his fears. So much.
"Time for that later my son." Wulfred said with a smile. "We shall have an eternity to discuss your wonderful life when you sit at my side in Shor's Hall. But that is not this day and hopefully not for many more days to come. Just know that I am proud of all you have accomplished, my son.
You're a good king and a better man. You saved Skyrim with your actions and you have done me proud."
"Thank you father." Ulfric said reverently. Hearing those words from that man was worth more than anything else in the world or beyond.
"I called out to you not only to give you praise though, son of mine. I also come with a warning. The Fatherland will need you once more. War unbidden and unlooked for has come to your door and Skyrim as well as all the rest of Tamriel stands poise on the brink of destruction."
"Yes father," Said Ulfric desperately. "I know. Even now we are preparing."
"I'm forbidden from telling you all boy." Wulfred said and in his eyes a deep frustration showed. "But know that the situation is more than it seems. You must be strong."
"I know father but what_"
"There is no time my boy." Wulfred said reaching forward and gripping Ulfric's shoulder firmly. The hand on his shoulder was flesh and real. His father was no apparition. "Just know this. The Elves are not the real enemy."
-8-
What awoke Ulric from a deep sleep was the shout and curses of enraged men.
"What?"He muttered to himself, his mind still foggy from sleep.
He sat up and looked around his darkened bedchamber. The fire in the hearth had burned down to a few smolders and no moonlight peeped in through the great bay window which overlooked the courtyard twenty feet below; leaving the room completely dark. He knuckled at his eyes in a vain attempt to get them accustomed to the darkness. The conversation with his father was still playing through his head but the clank of steel upon steel resounded in the corridor beyond the bedroom door and that was what brought Ulfric fully back to reality. The high king cursed and kicked off his coverings.
"Assassins!"
"Protect the high king!"
There was the meaty thud of steel upon flesh and a scream of pain, whether it was one of the assassin's or of his house guard Ulfric could tell not. His heart raced as he seized his sword from its plaque right above his bed head. The glyphs etched unto the polished steel blade glowed with a red luminescence but Ulfric took no time to admire it. He turned and sprinted across the room towards the wall which was decorated with weapons and pieces of armor.
Outside the sound of combat reached a crescendo before ominously stilling. Ulfric had just managed to wrestle an Ebony shield from the wall and unto his left arm when his door exploded inward with a thunderclap of sound and a literal flash of lightening. The high king stood at ready, his back to the wall and his feet spread, a fierce look on his face as his shadowy attackers trailed into the dark room.
"Five of you watch the door." A gruff gravelly voice snapped.
Ulfric narrowed his eyes and tried to make out who was speaking but in addition to the bad lighting the figures were all hooded and masked.
"High King Ulfric," The same voice said in mocking sing song voice. "Your time is nigh. Svongarde beckons."
"For you. Not for me."The High King growled in reply.
He hefted his shield and readied his sword. His only reply was cold laughter before the voice uttered one last word.
"Attack."
Ten men rushed towards Ulfric Stormcloak shouting and brandishing their weapons. He gritted his teeth and willed his soul to Svongarde before opening his mouth and sounding his own war cry.
